


Perchance to Dream

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Clint and Phil (MCU Avengers Universe) [18]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: FTC, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fuck the Canon, Kid Fic, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, except that i wanted to write fluff, no redeeming factor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil should be used to death, but, turns out, when one life ends, another one begins. Or Clint has cookies, Bruce can rock and sing, and Tony has a daycare in the building. Pure fluff because hey, I wanted to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perchance to Dream

One constant in Phil Coulson’s chosen profession was death. No way to run from it; everyone died. Everyone. Whether it was his mother’s death from breast cancer when he was fourteen, the changing roster of young, gung ho kids who came into Phil’s Ranger unit and went out in body bags, or friends in S.H.I.E.L.D. tac suits with bullet holes and burned skin, Phil learned that harsh lesson over and over again. No matter how good a job he did, how careful he was, there was always the unexpected, villains who didn’t operate by the rules or hesitate to push the button or pull the trigger. Worse, he’d faced the fact that friends, colleagues, even lovers could turn out to be not what they seemed, double even triple agents willing to sell him out for money or a misguided sense of some greater cause.  Hell, he had killed his own fair share, justifying that they were bad guys or out to kill him first.  Phil Coulson was no angel or saint and, if he was honest with himself, wasn’t too far away from the people he hunted down.

That was one of the reasons Phil put off acting on his feelings for Clint for so long. Watching friends die was hard. Getting the news of a casual lover’s passing was worse. But living through Clint’s death?  Phil would rather face a hundred gun toting thugs; he’d rushed into buildings about to explode, stormed enemy bunkers, and risked life and limb any number of times to ensure that Clint came back alive. And that was when they were just team members; if they were together together, as in sharing a life and a bed, well, Phil was pretty sure the unrequited pining and bleak lonely future was better than the alternative. 

When the time came, dying had been easy; he’d closed his eyes sitting there against that cold steel wall, and it had been the only inevitable end of his career. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents rarely lived to retirement. Phil might have a 401K with far too many zeroes, a mortgage on a brownstone, and a plan for a beach house, a dog, and long walks on the sand, but it was a dream he didn’t truly expect to happen.  Going out with Loki’s spear in his chest and a smear of blood, big badass gun in his hands, that was at least guaranteed to be a story told by future agents. Phil Coulson, they’d say, died in the Battle of New York, taking on an Asgardian god all by himself.

Living changed everything because, in that last moment, just before he slipped into darkness, his only thought was of a certain archer with amazing biceps, a lopsided smile, and a penchant for sass. His first question upon awaking was about Clint, and learning he’d been recovered from Loki’s machinations only to disappear again gave Phil a reason to get out of the hospital bed. Death, it turned out, wasn’t the enemy; time was. Priorities turned upside down; as much as it was a cliché, it really was better to have loved than never loved at all. Finally, he thought, he had it all figured out.

And that, of course, was when everything turned upside down and the bitch Fate reminded him that he still had lessons to learn.

_You coming home anytime soon?_

Clint’s text came at the worst possible time. The World Security Council had sent yet another edict about bringing the Avengers in line, complete with threats to Fury’s position as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and new governmental registration acts. Hip deep in meetings and counterplans, Phil really didn’t have the time for another round of guess which superhero has done something stupid/dangerous/annoying now.  It was Thor’s turn; he’d been gone to Asgard with Jane for quite a while, and whenever he returned, he seemed to have forgotten Earth customs. Last time, Steve had to bail Thor out of jail on St. Patrick’s Day after a drunken brawl that had ended with property damage to two pubs and half-naked singing at 3 a.m. in the streets. Not that Thor was all that drunk, he’d just been showing solidarity to his new friends.

 _Shit has hit the fan. Stuck here,_ he replied, thumbed the ringer off on his phone and gone back to his meeting.  Another hour spent combing the data collected on the WSC members for blackmail purposes, and Nick was ready to agree to turn Stark loose on them, a sure sign he was out of patience with the whole mess.  When he checked his phone again, there were five messages waiting.

 _Need to come to the Tower. ASAP_ , read the first one from Clint only minutes after his earlier reply.

  _Seriously. Call me. No, just get here. Too hard to explain_ , came five minutes later.

 _Phil? ,_ fifteen minutes later.

Then, just ten minutes ago _: Agent. Buttercup needs you. Come home. TS_.

But it was the last one that convinced him of the urgency of the situation: _Don’t worry.  Pepper’s got the lawyers on the case._

“I’ve got to go.” Phil stood and pushed away from the conference table. Maria looked surprised; Nick just tilted his head. Forestalling any questions, Phil said, “It’s important, Nick.”

He was out of the building in ten minutes, texting Clint his ETA as he gunned Lola and headed for the tower.

* * *

 

“Agent Barton, there is someone downstairs looking for Agent Coulson. She is waiting in the security lobby.”

“Any idea what’s up?” Clint unstrung his bow and took a few seconds to put it away before he headed to the door.

“She has not been very forthcoming with information, I’m afraid. She says she will only speak to Agent Coulson,” JARVIS replied.

As he rode the elevator down, Clint came up with half a dozen scenarios and plans to counter them; most required some measure of lethal force. He still had his ankle gun and a knife, plus the towel he’d draped around his neck could be used in a number of ways as well. Still jumpy even though they’d taken down the guy who’d been stalking Phil, Clint wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.  So he was ready for any kind of threat.

Except for a very young girl barreling into his legs as he stepped off the elevator and collapsing on her bum with a startled cry. Bright red curls bobbed as she looked up with the bluest eyes, a smattering of freckles across her nose. Lip trembled and a single fat tear rolled from the corner of her eyes.

“Well, now, that was fun.” Clint picked her up and deposited her on her feet. She hiccupped and stared at him, unsure of what to do next; Clint kept his voice light and even, brushing off imaginary dust before patting her on her rump. That was a mistake; her training pull up was heavy and full.  “But the best sliding is down in the lobby on the tile.”

“Oh, thank God. I swear she is the worst at getting away. There one minute, gone the next.” The woman came around the corner; her blonde hair was tied up in a polka dotted scarf, knotted behind her ears, and the first thing Clint thought was how young she looked … then how tired.  She scooped up the girl and nervously looked at Clint. “I’m so sorry. It’s been a long day and she’s just so difficult to keep control of when she’s like this.”

“No problems. It’s long past her nap time, I imagine.” Clint started walking towards the security checkpoint and the woman followed.  “Kids that age are pretty much either hungry, sleepy, or need a change when they get cranky.”

“I am not cut out for this job,” she muttered, trying to hold the squirming girl still. “My second case and I’m completely blowing it.”

Clint started to ask what she meant, but then he saw the SI security guard with a baby, holding the boy under the arms and away from his body.

“Ma’am, you just can’t run off and leave your baby here.” The guard was named Jake and he scrunched up his nose at the smell of soiled diaper. “I told you we’d pass you message along.”

“I have to see Mr. Coulson. I explained this all. It’s my charge to find him,” she began to argue. Jake, however, was having none of it.

“If you won’t tell us your why, we can’t help you,” he replied, obviously repeating something he’d already said before.  Then he saw Clint and he sighed. “Mr. Barton. Thank God. Maybe you can talk some sense into this woman.”

Turning, she took a good look at him from head to toe. He’d come straight from the range, still in his training suit, hair sweaty. Maybe not the best first impression. “I’ve already told this gentleman that I can only talk to Mr. Coulson. Look, I’ve been to seven different locations in the city in the last three days trying to find this mythical person. I’d almost given up when Amanda Hill came back from vacation and told me to try here. Said she’d worked with Coulson before. So, can you confirm that this Coulson actually exists and if he lives here or not?”

Looking over her shoulder, Clint nodded to Jake who passed over the baby to Clint. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk, shall we?” Not waiting on her, he strode back to the elevator; she scurried along behind. Clint knew Amanda, knew that she was their liaison at the Child and Youth Protective Services. One of the unfortunate side effects of their job was children in harm’s way; far too many for Clint’s comfort, but Phil had been instrumental in setting up the best system possible to handle them.  As the elevator rose, Clint put the pieces together, but he still couldn’t tie Phil into the situation. Juggling the boy into the crook of one arm, he sent a quick text to Phil.

He led her into the common room; Bruce looked up from where he was sitting on the couch, a tablet in his lap and a bowl of wasabi peas beside him.  “Sorry,” Clint said.  “I thought you were in the lab.”

“Tony’s taken over the whole floor for his latest project.” Bruce stood up, taking the bowl with him as crossed the room, sitting it up on a shelf out of the reach of little hands. “Who do we have here?”

The woman took that as her clue to start talking. “This is Bella and that’s Joshua.” Bella screeched and bent nearly double, arching her back as she reached for the floor.

“Down, down, down,” she chanted.

“Stop it. If I put you down, you’ll just run away again.” The woman tried to hold her but the little girl was determined.

“It’s okay. She can’t leave the room. Go ahead,” Clint said. “JARVIS, lock the doorway.”

Confused but too frazzled to care, the woman lowered the little girl to the wood floor; the second hands left her, the girl was running. She tried to crawl under the couch, but was too big. Then she tried to climb the entertainment system wall, but Clint snagged her before she got to the second shelf. Tossing her over his other shoulder, which earned him a chorus of giggles, he took her into the kitchen and showed her the opening beneath the bar with the sliding panel. She flashed him a beatific smile before she crawled in and slammed the panel shut, giggling even more.

“Do you have a fresh diaper?” Clint asked, drawing the woman’s attention back to him. “Josh here could use it.”

“Oh, no, I don’t. I wasn’t supposed to be out this long, it was just impossible to get a taxi with two kids and …” She petered out and sat down on one of the stools by the counter. “I am so not good at this. I wanted to be an actress, you know, but mom made me go to college and get a job and I really, really don’t like kids. I just want to finish this and go home.”

He and Bruce shared a look.  “Maybe if you told us what this is about? Do you need Phil’s help on a case?” Clint asked.

“Yes. Can you get him for me? I can explain everything to him.” She fumbled in her gigantic black purse and came out with a sheaf of papers.

“Well, I am his husband, so can tell me, right?” Clint watched her eyes widen, stare at him for a moment, and then a little ray of hope appear in the brown depths.

“Oh. Oh, maybe. Yes. Just let me make a quick call. That could solve everything!” She dug for her phone and was dialing before Clint could answer.

“Hey! Who brought rugrats into the inner sanctum!” Tony wandered in, ripped jeans and Black Sabbath shirt covered in grease, a big smudge on his cheek.  “And what is that odor you’ve discovered, your highness? Whoa, that is serious damage there to the ozone.”

“Yeah, well, deal with it,” Clint shot back. “She didn’t bring any extra diapers. Here. Hold him for a sec. I need to text Phil again.”

“No, no …” Tony held Josh like he was a potato sack, eyeing his dark curly hair and smooth brown skin. “Dude. You cannot smell this bad. JARVIS! Have some baby stuff sent up from the daycare, will ya? Diapers, wipes, that funky powder they dose them in.”

“Daycare?” Bruce asked, still leaning against the sink. “You have an onsite daycare?”

“Well, of course. SI is on the cutting edge of parental rights and one of the best workplaces in the U.S. People miss less time if their mini-mes are close by. Plus, shit happens and we have guards and safety measures in place for the tots.” He was staring at the little boy as if he were a ticking bomb. “Why is he doing that thing with his mouth?”

“He’s hungry,” Bruce answered. “JARVIS?”

“Adding age appropriate food to the list, sir,” the AI replied.

“Okay,” the woman said into her phone. “Sure. I can do that. Yes.  Did you … no I don’t know …” She covered the phone with her hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your last name,” she said to Clint.

“Barton. Clint Barton.” He saw the panel slide back and little fingers appear around the edge, eyes peering out at the room.  “I can send you a copy of our marriage certificate I you need it.”

“Barton,” she said to the person on the other end of her call, listening carefully. “Oh, good. Okay. Yes. I’ll do that. Thank you.” She ended the call. “My director says I can talk to you but that Mr. Coulson has to make the decision.”

“He’s good at that,” Tony said, trying to pass Joshua back to Clint who sidestepped him and offered the woman a seat.

“Start at the beginning,” he instructed. Bruce, he saw, had pulled out a box of whole wheat organic cheese crackers, dumped some in a bowl, and put them on the flor. A little hand darted out and drew them in. Then he dug a water bottle out of the cabinet, poured some guava juice and sat it down as well while the woman began to talk.

“I’m Jennifer King with Child and Youth Services. I’m sorry to tell you this but Mr. Coulson’s niece passed away six days ago.”

Of everything Clint thought he’d hear that was completely unexpected. Clint knew that Phil’s sister was married with kids, but he didn’t know their names. He’d never met any of Phil’s family; the closest he’d come was when he time traveled back to when Phil was 17 and met his friends. He’d heard a bit about Pauline, Phil’s sister, but that was the extent of his knowledge.

“Niece? Agent Agent has family?” Tony asked. This time he tried Bruce who took pity on him. Joshua whined until Bruce handed him a cracker to gnaw on. “I thought he came from a 3D printer.”

Clint gave Tony a glare. “I apologize for him, Jennifer. Ignore him.”

“Oh, yes, I see.” She didn’t; their back and forth was confusing her. She tried to get back on track. “Caroline died without a will, so we took custody of the children and are attempting to contact the family.”

“Phone numbers. Check. Phil’s father is in Boston now, Pauline I think is still in San Francisco. Phil will have the information you need.” Clint sent another quick text.

“Mr. Stark?” An older woman in her forties stood in the door with an overflowing diaper bag. “I have the things you wanted.”

“Sally! Wonderful.” Tony ushered her in. “We have smell-o-vision going on here. Did you bring air freshener?”

“I’ve got this.” Bruce came up and took the bag. “Come on, little man, let’s get you clean.”

“And the training pants?” Sally asked, scanning the room. Dropping his eyes, Clint pointed her to the open panel. “Ah,” she crouched down as the panel slammed shut. “That’s too bad. Guess I have to eat this peanut butter and jelly sandwich all by myself. And the cookies. I almost forgot the cookies.” A crack appeared  and some strands of red hair could be seen.

“Rawberry?” Her voice was tiny but clear.

Sally pulled out a square Tupperware and popped open the lid. “Grape,” she replied, very serious. When the hand reached out, Sally held very still. “But you have to go to the potty before the cookies, okay?” The sandwich disappeared under the counter.

Standing back up, she passed over a Ziploc bag of cookies to Clint. “Don’t force her to come out. She’s scared and among unfamiliar people. Give her a reason to and she’ll go willingly. Nobody likes to sit in wet pants.”

“Thanks,” Clint said.

“OH MY GOD!” Tony shouted, jerking back as a stream of pee hit him right in the face. “What the hell?”

Bruce laughed out loud. “Boys do that when the air hits them. I told you to wait.”

“Gah! I think I swallowed!” He ran to the sink and stuck his head under the stream of water. Bruce kept laughing.

“Mr. Stark? You’re Tony Stark!” Jennifer had a sudden realization of who she was talking to. “I didn’t .. oh my.”

“Ms. King, I’d say we’re not always like this, but this is pretty par for the course.” Clint chuckled. “It is Stark Tower after all. Let me get hold of Phil and we’ll get you on your way.”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, but we’ve already talked to the General and to Mrs. Martin.” Jennifer winced, unhappy about what she was saying. “They refused custody. Mr. Coulson is the last relative who could take the kids. If he says no, then it’s back in the system for them.”

Clint’s brain stopped for a second, echoes of the past stirred up by that statement. “Back in?” A heavy weight settled in his stomach. “They’ve already been in foster care?”

“Yes, I’m afraid. For the last few months, while Caroline tried court ordered rehab.”

The empty water bottle appeared by Clint’s foot, Bella’s hand retreating but her big blue eyes … Coulson eyes … were glued on Clint’s every move. Scared. Lonely. Wanting. He dropped down on the floor and held up the cookies. With a sniper’s patience, he waited.

“Where are the fathers?” he asked.

“No fathers in the picture or on the birth certificates.” She shook her head.

“Clint.” Bruce’s voice was soft; he had a juice box from the bag and Joshua in the crook of one arm, sucking greedily on the straw. “He’s underweight for his age. I thought he was a year old, but he’s more like 18 months. A little dehydrated and malnourished.”

“I’ll get Phil.” Tony had his phone in his hand. “Fury can kiss my ass; we need Phil here.”

“Where have they been staying? You said six days?” Clint demanded.

“We’ve got foster families who keep them during transition …” Jennifer shrank back at Clint’s glare. “But they are in special placements for drug babies, and those are hard to come by …”

A hand on his knee and the little girl blinked at him. “Bella potty?” she whispered.

“Of course, baby.” He opened his arms and let her come to him before rising up from the floor. “They’re not leaving the building until Phil gets here,” he said to Tony.

“My lawyers live to serve.” Tony waved him off. “Go. We’ve got this.”

* * *

 

The first thing Phil saw when he got off the elevator was Bruce standing in the kitchen, bouncing lightly on his toes, rocking back and forth, humming.  A dishtowel draped across his shoulder, and a head full of black tight curls peaked over, blue eyes tracking Phil’s movement across the room. Phil almost stopped, but then he saw Clint on the couch, a little body flat on his chest, eyes closed and mouth open, drooling slightly, red curls askew. Something shifted inside of him, a little yearning sigh of things he never thought he’d see or be able to want.

“So, I see I missed something,” he said.

“Mr. Coulson?” The woman stood up from the chair she was sitting in. “I’m so glad to finally meet you.”

“You better sit, Phil,” Clint said, patting the cushion next to him. “We’ve got some talking to do.”

He sat. He listened. He got angry and then he felt sad. The loss didn’t really hit him; truth was, he hadn’t seen Caro in over four years. When she became pregnant at sixteen, her mother had insisted on an abortion; they’d fought, but Pauline, as always, won. Caro was never the same after; she ran away from home and moved to New York to be an actress. He hadn’t even known she’d been doing drugs, but it didn’t surprise him. She’d blamed her mother for all her troubles. But he wished he’d known about the kids; he’d have taken care of them from the very beginning.

He absolutely could see his father refusing to take them. Obviously, they were born out of wedlock. A mixed raced child in the Coulson house? The General would never allow that. And Pauline always did what the General decreed, even turning away her own grandchildren to the foster system.  And therein was the rub. There was no way Clint wasn’t seeing himself in these kids, remembering being shuffled around when his parents died and the relatives who didn’t take the boys in.

“Obviously, Ms. King, my husband and I need to discuss our answer,” Phil cut off the woman’s ramblings.

“Of course,” she agreed. “I’ll take the children back to …”

“… but they will be staying with us until we make the decision. I’ll have a professional caregiver here within the hour along with a pediatrician on call.” Phil just kept talking over her.

“Oh, I can’t approve that. The rules say …” she tried to argue.

“I’m putting us down for a 10 a.m. meeting … here okay with you, Clint?” Phil turned his head and Clint nodded, biting back a grin. “Good. It’s decided. Tony, call off the lawyers. We have an understanding.”

“But I …” Jennifer began.

“Just accept it. He wins,” Tony advised, cutting her off.

He really didn’t like rolling over the young woman … she was just trying to do her job even if she sucked at it … but it was for the best. Within forty minutes, he had a professional nanny, a crib and a toddler bed, clothes, and diapers in copious amounts. Clint insisted on putting Bella in her bed while Bruce settled Joshua in the crib next to her where the brother and sister could see each other. The nanny, a lovely British woman who’d arrived with a jaunty hat and an umbrella, settled into the rocker in the room, nearby in case they woke up disoriented and scared.

Clint was waiting for him in their living room, legs crossed under him on the couch. “I’m sorry. I know I got emotionally attached far too fast. It’s just … Phil, Bella’s fear and the way she hid and Joshua’s tiny pinched face. Did Bruce tell you that Josh has a terrible case of diaper rash? And that they both haven’t been eating the right things and not nearly enough?” He stopped and drew in a long breath. “Look, I know that we can’t take them. We can’t offer them the home they deserve with a mom and dad and a yard and a dog and a cat and Christmas presents and Disneyworld vacations. I get that, okay? But we can find them a good family, like SHIELD does for orphaned kids of their employees; remember Robertson’s kids? They were adopted by those scientists from MedTech division. That way we could keep an eye on them, make sure they were treated well.”

Phil sat and let Clint talk. There were so many variables to think about, first and foremost safety and security. The rage he felt at his father and sister he shoved down, unable to deal with it right now. Instead, he thought about Clint sitting on the couch with the sleeping girl, Bruce rocking Joshua, the gleam in Tony’s eyes when he thought no one was watching. About the long days away on missions, the constant danger, the fear that this would be the time one of them didn’t come home. He thought about Clint in a wheelchair or him with a cane, taking care of each other, two old men growing old and frail, or, worse, one man left alone. About that brownstone with dogs to be walked and neighborhood watch meetings and Clint training newbies and Phil leading workshops and consulting for alphabet agencies. He thought about his upcoming performance review, the complete medical checkup, the inevitable scaling back of duties because of loss of mobility and slow recovery time. About Clint coming back with myriad of cuts and bruises, bleeding and broken, deciding that this was the final mission.

And then he recalibrated all of those thoughts to include a red-headed little girl and a black-haired boy growing up to be strong and smart teenagers then adults who made something of themselves. Life in the Tower, with Uncle Tony spoiling them with extravagant gifts, letting them play in his workshop, coming back covered in grease, and loving them like they were his own. Uncle Bruce teaching them to meditate, giving them their first microscopes, and being like a third father to them. Uncle Steve teaching them how to protect themselves from bullies, taking them to the MOMA on Saturdays, and making sure they had the best life he could give them. Natasha teaching them yoga, ballet, and jujitsu, making sure they were trilingual, and protecting them with her life in necessary. Pepper buying them toys, sitting them on her lap while she led high level negotiations, and not caring when they got jelly on her thousand dollar suits. And the Hulk watching Disney movies on the big screen with them, carrying them on his shoulder, and going green if they were ever threatened.

But most of all, he imagined coming home from work to find Clint on the floor in the middle of a Lego created kingdom, balancing one kid over his head so they could put on the final part of the tower.  A family meal with spaghetti in hair, smeared on faces, and juice all over the table. Clint being the horse, riding them on his back around the floor or asleep in bed, two small heads on his chest, waiting for Phil. He thought about walking them to their first day of school, shopping at the Whole Foods, training wheels on bikes, kites in the park, the symphony kid’s programs, a Christmas tree filled with lights and presents. Graduation, college, marriages, grandkids … house overrun with family on the holidays, him at the head of the table, Clint at the foot, or, heaven forbid, just one of them surrounded by the family they loved. It wouldn’t be easy. Raising kids was a hard enough job on its own, but added to their crazy jobs?

He realized he’d fallen silent and that Clint was patiently waiting for him to speak. So he tried. “I was thinking … I mean, I know we haven’t talked about it, and it’s an insane idea … I mean, maybe, do you want …”

“Yes, Phil.” Clint’s hands cradled his face. “I’ll probably be shit at this whole parent thing and it’s all sudden and such, but, yeah. Maybe this is a sign, ya’ know? You’ve been after me to check out that Kate Bishop, think about working her into the team. We’ve got that Parker kid on tap and Carol Danvers and the others. I could step it back a little, give my knees a break, be around more. I know you’re worried about the next review, but that could be a bonus, less time in the field, more time to mold the direction of SHIELD and be at home in the evenings. And, no, this isn’t just about me and Barney. I don’t like the idea of the kids in the system, but I’m more than willing to help you find a good place for them if that’s what you want to do.”

“I wasn’t sure I could love you anymore than I did, but you keep proving me wrong.” Phil leaned over and brushed a light kiss along Clint’s lips. “Kids weren’t even on my radar, not a possibility, but, God, I think maybe I want to do this. With you.”

“Oh good. You can deal with the deliveries that Tony has organized for tomorrow. Something about a play floor made completely of this new rubberized flooring …” Clint smiled. “I’m going to freak out in about twelve hours so you’re on your own.”

“I’ll reserve twenty four then for my breakdown. You’ll just have to be back by then.” Phil slipped his arm around Clint’s waist and laid his head on Clint’s shoulder.

“Can do. Dad.”

Caroline Martin was buried two days later in a small cemetery north of the city. Besides her uncle and his husband and her children, a handful of superheroes attended the quiet ceremony at the graveside. Phil mourned for the loss of a promising life made all the more tragic by the missing family. Someday, Phil hoped that his father and sister would look back on this and regret would make them see how wrong they’d been, but he didn’t believe it would happen. One life, cut short by addiction and drugs; he cried, unashamedly, when the first handful of dirt covered the coffin.

As always, no stone was left unturned. Within a month, Phil knew the identity of each of the kid’s fathers; one had died in a car accident, and the other was living in a crack house in the Bronx. Phil found him, dropped him into a rehab program, talked to him once he was sober at which time he promptly signed away all rights to Bella, left and went right back to the crack house.

Phil didn’t fight the recommendation that he spend less time in the field, taking it upon himself to recalibrate the Tower’s security and, by extension, instigate an entire overhaul of SHIELD’s crisis protocols. He worked more hours than he had before, but most were in his office in the Tower or in their new quarters that Tony designed with, yes, a massive play room that was Hulk sized once the Big Green Guy got a look at it and wanted to play too. With terminals and JARVIS everywhere, Phil could just as easily build scaled models of the helicarrier to test their systems while the kids were in the bath as he could anywhere. And, as an added bonus, Bella was fascinated by the three dimensional projections, so much so that Tony created a program for a virtual doll house. First thing Bella did was make an underground bunker complete with Barbie Quinnjet landing pad and arrow range.

Clint and Kate were like oil and vinegar, the perfect mixture of sass and accuracy; he took to mentoring her with ease and she immediately began reining him in. It was just as easy to train with all the new Avenger additions in the tower as anywhere, so Clint just took the elevator back to their floor, battered from the latest round of who can do the stupidest stunt, and let Joshua climb all over him until he fell  asleep. The boy, it turned out, loved to take things apart, from his playskool my first tablet to helping Tony refurbish the carburetor in his vintage race cars. Tony kept buying new things for Josh to destroy in the name of science.

There were bad times. Babies born to addicted mothers can have all sorts of health and developmental issues and neither Bella nor Josh was immune to the circumstances of their birth. But Tony donated money to fund researchers on the cutting edge of the field, and they worked through it all with doctors and therapists and the amazing nanny who showed up the first night that Clint called Mary Poppins. Turns out, she was ex-MI6 and  a part-time SHIELD contractor; she and Natasha had worked together before. Life as the nanny in Stark Tower didn’t faze her one bit. Phil complained he was too old to miss that much sleep in the beginning, but they managed to keep their sex life quite satisfying, thank you very much, despite what the books all said, what with all the more than willing babysitters close at hand.

And yes, death was still a constant, lurking always in the background of every single day. But that would have been true one way or the other. Now, they had precious moments they could bank against the dark times, knew that there were little ones who loved them, waiting for them to come home. And that dream come true, in Phil Coulson’s book, was worth it all.


End file.
